


make it to mine by christmas eve

by elizabethelizabeth



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Crowley is a Tease (Good Omens), First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabethelizabeth/pseuds/elizabethelizabeth
Summary: "Oh, angel. Don't you know?"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95





	make it to mine by christmas eve

**Author's Note:**

> title and lyrics from Slow Club's Christmas TV, which is a wonderful song for the season
> 
> merry christmas all <3

_And it’s brutal, it’s brutal. Why can’t you see?_   
_It’s brutal, it’s brutal. Where have you been?_   
_‘Cus we’re far apart, and my lonely heart finds it hard to get through the night_   
_You pull me out of the dark, and now it’s light_

Aziraphale won't pretend to understand it. He's adept at wielding both ignorance and knowledge for his benefit, and he can, of course, choose to understand why Crowley still goes out on assignments. The demon doesn't call them that anymore, since by definition they're not strictly assigned by anyone, hellish or otherwise. Crowley cycles through different definitions: dark undertakings, hellish biddings, general mischief, so on and so forth.

On December 24th, Crowley stays out late. Something about messing with the processing system for some village something or other. Aziraphale could have paid attention, but chose not to; instead, he sulks on the sofa in the bookshop and glares at an unopened bottle of bourbon taunting him from the side table.

He didn't _have_ to technically wait for Crowley to tuck into it.

But he would anyway.

Again, not something he was going to spend any time examining.

He settles into something close to a right snit when the bookshop door opens and welcomes in a demon and a gust of cold air. Only one of them was technically welcome. "What have you been up to, then?"

"Told you," Crowley unravels his scarf (black), unbuttons his coat (black), and tears the knit cap off his head (red, as a change of pace). All three are thrown haphazardly on the coat rack, but it was better there than in a pile on the floor as Crowley was wont to do. "Out on a lark."

"I'll never understand your propensity to cause mayhem. You're _retired_. We both are." Aziraphale focuses his attentions on opening the bourbon bottle and creating glasses (two of them) instead of looking at Crowley as he sprawls on the sofa next to Aziraphale.

"You're still performing good works," Crowley argues, propping up his feet on the coffee table, boots and all. One pointed look from (the first of the evening) is all it takes for Crowley to put them back on the floor, remove his boots, and prop his socked feet up instead. That'll have to do, Aziraphale supposes.

"That's different. There's an emphasis on the _good_ in there."

"You don't believe that." Crowley snaps in the general direction of the fireplace, making it roar just a bit warmer. Once the bourbon is poured and proffered to Crowley, he takes him in more readily. Despite the layers of clothing, he still looks red-faced and shaky from the cold outside. "You're just having trouble adjusting to being retired _and_ you're upset about something, so instead of talking through it you're getting snippy with me on Christmas Eve. So," he takes a, frankly self-satisfied, sip of his bourbon. "Talk to me. What's up?"

"I would call you insightful if you weren't completely and totally incorrect." The sip Aziraphale takes is much more frazzled by comparison. "What were you up to today?"

"Are you asking me a question to avoid answering the one I asked you?"

Yes. "Yes." Oh! Honesty. The bourbon is strong tonight.

Crowley's grin, present since he stepped into the bookshop and only brightening with the teasing, dims to something resembling timidity. "Told you earlier, I was mucking with a village hospital processing system."

Aziraphale sighs. "Crowley that's-"

"They weren't getting enough supplies to deal with winter patients. So I rerouted the inventory from some big overstaffed hospital so the smaller hospital could be well taken care of. Right demonic work, that is. Takes a lot of devilish insight to pull that off."

There was really only one demon in existence who _could_ pull that off, though.

"What's wrong, Aziraphale?" Crowley set his tumbler and turned his whole body to face Aziraphale with unmatched attention, and that was almost unbearable.

"Oh, Crowley, I-" Aziraphale wanted to down the rest of his drink, but perhaps it was better to keep his sobriety for now. "I suppose I missed you is all. And it's Christmas Eve and I was alone all day. And I suppose I enjoy my solitude to an extent, but I felt it more intensely and more awfully today. I wanted you here. And I suppose...I don't know why you came back." He's spewed all these words while looking at the floor, at the fire, anywhere but Crowley. He'd wring his hands were they not otherwise occupied. All day he's wondered and worried and stewing in an irritation that he hadn't put words to until just that moment.

He can't ignore Crowley forever, though. Better to get this mortifying ordeal over with. He's just exposed his heart, and to put off the ramifications would be foolish now.

Crowley, to his surprise, is still smiling. "Oh, angel." He reaches out, slowly. Any faster and Aziraphale might turn and run, and Aziraphale would be the first to say it. Crowley's palm on Aziraphale's cheek is so soft and so warm. "Don't you know?"

If Aziraphale didn't, he does now.

Oh, Christmas Eve is such a stereotypical date to have a first kiss. It belongs in one of those sappy films Crowley insists on watching while pretending to hate watching them. It's a novel concept in that it belongs in only the most sentimental of fictions. Isn't it glorious, though?

The tip of Crowley's nose is the only part left of him that's cold, and Aziraphale knows because it's startling close to his own nose from this angle. It's a point of juxtaposition that Aziraphale focuses on amidst the warmth that Crowley radiates. Aziraphale realizes, when Crowley opens his mouth to deepen the kiss into a proper snog, that he's exceptionally warm as well. A little floaty, for lack of a better word.

Do people normally think this much while snogging?

"No one thinks as much as you do, I think." Crowley moves the kiss along cheeks and down a neck with a pulsating heartbeat. "I love it, though. Especially when you're thinking about me."

"Who says I'm thinking about you?"

"I also love when you tease. Makes me all shivery. Good thing, that."

"Oh, fiend." Aziraphale gets his hands involved, pulling Crowley's lips back to his own. He's not keen on letting him go anytime soon.

_So come on home_   
_Just come on home_   
_Just come on home_   
_Just come on home_


End file.
